


After Show

by Chesra



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-07-25 13:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20026567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chesra/pseuds/Chesra
Summary: Not in a million years did Munakata Reisi ever think he'd be a fan of HOMRA, the most popular rock band in Japan, but stranger things have happened.





	1. side a

“- heard of HOMRA-”

“Suoh Mikoto-”

“-it’s so good!”

Reisi tunes out the chatter. He’s used to it, at this point.

He exits the platform on the subway, ignoring the gigantic poster of Suoh Mikoto’s face plastered on the walls.

It’s a strange reminder, honestly, of how differently their lives could have been led. Reisi’s not surprised Suoh is still larger-than-life - he’s always inflamed that kind of madness in people, to charm them into following his every step. That it should translate to becoming a popular boy band is hardly a jump. Reisi has always preferred to be quiet, to be behind the scenes. 

In fact, Reisi thinks, if they had never been Kings, their paths never would have crossed.

Sometimes Reisi wonders if it’s all in his head - that fantastically laid out universe, where he had wielded power beyond measure. It all seems so unreal, like an unbelievable power trip, dreamt up by an egomaniac. 

And yet - when he had first begun hearing of HOMRA, he’d dismissed it as a mere coincidence. The band had grown, exponentially, especially among disaffected young men, lured by the rock tunes, and impressionable young girls, who found the members attractive. Reisi would hear them being discussed on the radio - the lead singer is a perennial favorite, though the bassist has plenty of fans among the older women. He’d hardly had to follow to learn. They're Japan’s biggest music act, and they were even making waves overseas.

Their songs play in TV commercials, in the end credits of anime and movies, and now, even on the train’s speakers. It seems there’s no escape from HOMRA. Reisi had gotten the biggest shock of his life when he’d first seen the poster for their concert in their school’s announcement corkboard.

The Suoh Mikoto he had heard discussed in passing looked exactly like the Suoh Mikoto of his dreams.

He seemed younger - Reisi would later look him up, and learn that they were again of the same age - but the expression of real apathy was the same. Reisi had almost laughed. Suoh Mikoto looked bored, as usual. 

And yet people keep looking up at the posters, sighing or squealing or smiling. Suoh’s influence still casts far and wide, even as a pop star. Reisi shouldn’t have been surprised. That has always been Suoh’s charm.

Sometimes, Reisi wonders if he would remember. If their paths would cross and Suoh’s eyes would light up with recognition. But that seems even more of a farfetched dream than being a King in his previous life. After all, Fushimi Saruhiko doesn’t remember.

Reisi had been shocked when he’d run across the younger student a few weeks back - he’d imagined he had been simply seeing things. He’d been cautious in their few interactions, searching for even the slightest hint in his expressions, and found none. There was nothing to suggest that Reisi’s imaginings were any probable, except for the presence of Yata Misaki.

The two are an inseparable pair, perhaps the way they’d been before Reisi met Fushimi. Fushimi is quieter; still full of barbed insults, but nowhere near the angry, bitter man Reisi had met in HOMRA. The betrayal that Fushimi had harbored in his chest has not happened, and Reisi hopes it never will, not in this lifetime. He can’t deny how happy Fushimi seems with Yata, and he won’t begrudge them for it. He even encourages them to spend more time together.

He tries to be subtle in his machinations too, but clearly Fushimi sees through that. Suspicion always fill his expression, even as he greets him with a vaguely deferential, “Munakata-senpai,” as they cross each other in the hallway in the afternoons.

“Fushimi-kun,” he returns jovially, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Fushimi isn’t even subtle in his attempt to shrug his shoulder off. 

“Oi, Saru - o-oh, Munakata-senpai,” Yata stutters as he nearly collides into them. He glances warily at Fushimi, who just rolls his eyes.

“Yata-kun,” Reisi greets. “You seem particularly energetic today.”

“Well!” Yata brightens up. “Today’s an important day!”

Fushimi clicks his tongue. “Is it someone’s birthday?” Reisi asks, curious. 

“Uh - no,” Yata says. “Today’s the release of HOMRA’s new single!”

Of course. Reisi should have known Yata would be a fan.

“They’re dropping it in the next thirty minutes! We have to be ready to listen to it, Saru!” he tugs on his friend’s arm.

Fushimi folds his arms. “You’re going to blow your money again on buying it online?”

“Hey! Their music is worth it!” He glances at Reisi as if for support. Reisi doesn’t particularly know how to respond to that. After all...

“I’ve never heard their music,” he admits, quietly, to Yata. His eyes go promptly wide in disbelief.

“You wouldn’t like it, Munakata-senpai,” Fushimi says instantly, with a click of his tongue.

“Hey!” Yata says. “HOMRA’s music is for everyone!”

Fushimi snorts. “Keep saying that, Misaki.”

But he’s done it now. Yata, determined, stands up and starts to wax poetic about HOMRA. Reisi listens, torn between amusement and confusion. He hasn’t particularly expected to be on the receiving end of such conviction.

“Well,” he says, once Yata is done with his spiel. “That’s - certainly interesting.”

Yata nods eagerly. “They’re releasing their second album this Fall!” He says. “They might even _ tour. _Isn’t that exciting?”

He whips out his phone, scrolling in his iTunes. “You _ have _to hear their latest single,” he says, glancing at his watch. “Oh man, it’s out! Let’s listen!” 

He hits play, and the sound starts up on Yata’s phone. There’s a bass intro that has Reisi blinking - he hadn’t expected such a slow, quiet build up.

And then.

Suoh Mikoto’s voice filters through the speakers, perfectly distinguishable even now that it’s been years (dreams?) since he’s last heard of it. The hairs on the back of Reisi’s neck stand from recognition.

It’s a love song, he realizes with a start, as they hit the chorus. Suoh is singing about a lost love. Suoh croons in the chorus, so laughably unlike the person Reisi has in his head that he nearly starts chuckling.

“You like it!” Yata crows, mistaking the smile forming in his mouth for anything other than mirth.

Reisi shakes his head. “It’s rather...entertaining,” he says. It’s true. The sound is catchy, like any manufactured pop noise. How strange that this what Suoh Mikoto is up to now. 

Yata’s eyes are bright. “This is amazing,” he breathes reverently, as they hit the bridge of the song. “I bet this is going to top the charts again!” He instantly replays the song once it ends, to Fushimi’s clear displeasure. Reisi, instead, opts to lean in closer, making out the song more clearly.

On the second listen, the song feels both subdued and yet intense, which, now that Reisi thinks about it, describes the contradiction of Suoh Mikoto completely. He can’t deny the pull of it. 

Yata sighs, looking almost close to tears as the song ends. “That was so good, wasn’t it, senpai? But oh - you might want to hear their other songs - this is from their first album, No Ash. That’s the one that made it to Top One internationally. Here, this one!”

Yata changes the song, and something loud and bass heavy slams from the speakers. Munakata flinches in surprise. 

This, he feels, is more reminiscent of the HOMRA he knows. The sound is angry, fervent, and wild. There’s an undercurrent of danger thrumming in the music; the same way his heart used to pound whenever he would come in contact with the Red King.

It’s electrifying. Reisi barely realizes that Suoh has begun to sing; a low growl that slowly peaks into a heavy roar. He’s left holding his breath, absorbing the music and the lyrics like a man hypnotized, rooted to the spot by Suoh’s voice.

“...you think?” Reisi shakes himself from his reverie to glance up at Yata’s expectant gaze.

For once, Reisi doesn’t feel the need to be circuitous. “I can see the appeal,” he says. The shock is slow to spread on Yata’s face; behind him, Fushimi mirrors the same. The latter, however, breaks into a scowl as Yata pumps his fist in the air.

“I knew you’d see it, Munakata-senpai!” Yata crows, cheering. “Here, this one’s also good -”

And that’s how Reisi spends the entire afternoon listening to Suoh. It’s unfamiliar; having this one-sided conversation with a man he used to be equal with. Reisi’s words have no way of reaching Suoh’s, and perhaps these words aren’t meant for Reisi to hear. They were made for people like Yata, the ones who would follow him wholeheartedly. Reisi’s still a skeptic, even though he can’t deny the power behind Suoh’s words.

Two days after, he goes out and buys their previously released album on a whim. Reisi supposes he can’t help but be mildly impressed at the music they’ve put out into the world.

The songs are each distinctly different from each other; Reisi can sense which ones are more influenced by Suoh, or Kusanagi, or Totsuka. They also have some songs that feel so perfectly balanced; a strange sense of completion emanating from them. Reisi likes those best. The sound feels refined, and utterly riveting. It’s not long after that he can’t stop listening to the music on loop.

He’s not surprised now that they’ve risen to the top so quickly. With something like this, it’s like a King’s power all over again.

There’s the last song in the album - a quiet ballad, unusual to the overall feel. But Reisi likes it for Suoh’s melancholy tone. This time he sings of a dangerous loneliness, one that threatens to overcome him whole. That, it seems, is the closest to the Suoh Mikoto Reisi knows. 

He’s almost surprised to realize that he’s been listening to it for almost two months on repeat - his brother even comments on it.

“Are you bothered by the noise?” he asks, concerned, but his brother only shakes his head.

“I like it!” he says. “I hear them on the radio sometimes - quite invigorating, if you ask me!”

Reisi only smiles. He wonders, if there was ever a chance for them to meet, if his brother would like Suoh Mikoto. His family is the easygoing sort - quick to accept and understand, no questions asked. It isn’t a stretch to imagine them welcoming him into their fold.

His mother even buys him a clearfile from the nearby convenience store. “That’s from the band you like so much, right?” she says, beaming. She’d gotten the Totsuka one - Suoh’s had been long sold out; not that Reisi’s been checking. He thanks his mother and gives it to Yata the next day. 

Yata thanks him, surprised at the gift. He’s still trying to find Suoh’s clearfile all over the city, much to Fushimi’s annoyance, as he’d been dragged along. A week later, he still has yet to obtain it - but comes out much more victorious. 

“Saru won the lottery for the HOMRA’s signing event here in Shizume!” he says, practically bouncing in delight. “We’re definitely going!”

Reisi laughs, familiar with the date and time of that particular event. “You’re skipping class, you mean.” Yata turns red, realizing the implied, and Fushimi rolls his eyes.

“No worries, Yata-kun,” Reisi reassures him. “It’s good to do the things we find important. Education is more than these classroom walls.”

Yata looks touched. “Munakata-senpai!” He cries. “I knew you’d understand!”

Fushimi looks disgruntled. “Keep your voice down, Misaki,” he scolds. He’s eyeing Reisi rather warily. Reisi only flashes him a winning smile. 

“We’ll make this up to you!” Yata says. “I promise!”

“You don’t need to,” Reisi reassures him. “Have fun meeting your idol.”

Yata’s eyes are shining. “I will!”

And Reisi has no doubts that Yata will experience the joy he deserves. 

As for him - well. He’s not tempted to push his luck. There’s no reason for him to meet Suoh Mikoto at all. Reisi is content with the sound of voice. He has no need for anything else.

\--

Mikoto hates autograph signing.

Actually, Mikoto dislikes a lot of things involved with the fame of being in a band. He’d only gone along with the decision to make music because of Totsuka, who’d gotten in his head that he wanted to start a band. 

He’d never expected them to get _ big. _

Sometimes he still can’t believe it, but at the same time, he’d been King once upon a time. In retrospect, being part of one of Japan’s famous musical acts hardly seems more difficult.

But on days like this, he’d really rather be lying in bed and resisting the urge to burn everything up in his sight.

Kusanagi chuckles good-naturedly. “Just another hour, Mikoto,” he says. “We’re almost at the end.”

“Thank God.” Mikoto’s hand is close to cramping from signing so much. And so many people keep shrieking and clapping when they see him. Maybe Mikoto should have brought earplugs.

“Now, now, Mikoto-san!” Totsuka chirps, patting him on the back. “We’re here for the fans!” He smiles up at a girl, who holds out the CD for him to sign with reverence. 

Mikoto rolls his eyes. He doesn’t really care much for the fans.

He slumps on his chair, half-heartedly scribbling his name on the CD. “Thank you!” the girl chirps. Mikoto doesn’t even manage a smile. 

He glances at the next people in line, and the sight makes him lean forward. It’s Yata, excitedly pulling at a reluctant Fushimi. Suoh raises an eyebrow. Yata is in front of Kusanagi, his mouth open, though Suoh can’t hear what he’s saying. He frowns.

“Mikoto-san!” he’s forced to look up at the person in front of him, another girl, except she seems much older. She’s wearing glitter in her eyes, and she looks as wide-eyed as the last. Mikoto doesn’t really want to be distracted, so he just signs the CD and hands it back without a word. The girl looks disappointed as she’s led away, but Mikoto has more important things to focus on. He turns his gaze, and sure enough, Yata has just finished with Totsuka and is walking towards him.

“Mi-Mikoto-san!” Yata bubbles, the tone eerily similar to the girl who just left. His hands are shaking as he hands him the CD. “I’m a huge fan!”

“...Thanks,” Mikoto says, still momentarily nonplussed. He glances at Totsuka and Kusanagi, but there is no sign of recognition in either of their faces. Totsuka has his usual chipper smile on; Kusanagi merely looks civil. 

So, nothing. Mikoto sighs inwardly. He wonders if he’s upset. Kusanagi and Totsuka barely believe him, and honestly Mikoto barely believes himself. It feels too impossible; to have been a King, with godly powers in a previous lifetime? And yet, here he is, drawn to his two most important people. That can only be coincidence. But if Mikoto’s being given a second chance to make things right, then he won’t complain.

He takes out his pen. “Your name?” he says.

“Y-Yata Misaki!” Yata says instantly, face going red. Mikoto nods, writing the kanji down, and then, a half-scribbled _ thank you _. He signs it, and then hands it back.

Yata takes the CD with something like reverence. “Thank you!” he says, pressing it close to his chest. “You guys are amazing!” He looks at Totsuka and Kusanagi, eyes bright. “I hope you keep making your music!”

“Thanks, Yata-san!” Totsuka says. 

Yata looks like he’ll explode from happiness. Beside him, Fushimi clicks his tongue. The sound snaps Yata out of his trance. “Aaah - Saruhiko!” He says, turning to his friend. “The other CD!”

The guard by their side frowns. “Only one item per ticket, please.”

Saruhiko shrugs. “Told you, Misaki.”

“No, please - can we have another one? It’s for our friend!” Yata pleads. 

“It’s the rules,” The guard says, moving to shoo them away. “Next!”

“I’ll sign it,” Mikoto says, before Yata gets pushed off. Everyone looks at him in shock, including his bandmates. He peels himself off his chair, standing to snag the CD hanging loosely from Fushimi’s hand before settling back down. It’s done so fast the guard is only able to cry out a quick, “Suoh-san!” before he scrawls his loopy signature. “Who’s it for?” he says, for formality’s sake.

“Uh -” Yata’s speechless. Slowly, his eyes grow even wider, and he looks like he’s going to burst into tears. “Ahh - thank you so much, Mikoto-san!”

Mikoto shrugs, keeping the pen poised over the cover. “Tell me the name already.”

“Ah - right! Sorry!” Yata rubs his neck in embarrassment. “Please make it out to Munakata Reisi.”

Mikoto nearly drops the pen.

He raises his head up to gaze at Yata. He’s beaming at Mikoto, completely unaware he’s said something certifiably inane. Mikoto glances to his left, where Fushimi is standing with an expression mixed with confusion and annoyance. 

Neither of them seem like they’re joking.

“Munakata Reisi?” he repeats.

“Yeah - uh…” Yata scratches his head, and then turns to his friend. “How do you put his name together?”

Fushimi heaves a long suffering sigh, before rattling the kanji to Munakata’s ridiculously pretentious name. Mikoto remembers it easily, from the documents that Gold King would send over to the bar, addressing him as the Blue King. Mikoto never reads them, but Kusanagi would toss them to his side whenever it was an actual summon. 

To his surprise, his hands don’t shake as he writes his name down.

“Thank you _ so _much,” Yata says, after he accepts the signed CD.

“All right, move on, please,” the guard says, and herds Yata and Fushimi away from the table. “Next!”

“Wow, Mikoto,” Kusanagi says, as the next person (a high school girl) beelines straight for Totsuka. “Didn’t expect you to do that.”

Mikoto shrugs. He’s still staring at Yata and Fushimi, walking away in the distance. “Do you know what school that uniform is from?” he asks abruptly.

Kusanagi gives him a confused look. “No, why?”

“No reason,” Mikoto mutters. He narrows his eyes, taking in the pattern and color of the plaid. 

It’s a long shot, but Mikoto’s not above trying.

\--

Reisi is surprised when the following day, Yata practically crashes into him at the hallway, bright and early, eagerly yelling his name.

“You’re not supposed to run in hallways, Yata-kun,” he scolds mildly. 

Yata only shakes his head, unbothered. His eyes are wide and frantic as he holds something up with his shaking hands. Reisi blinks at it - it’s the latest HOMRA release. “I bought you his new CD,” Yata says, frenetic, shoving it into Reisi’s face. 

Reisi blinks. “You-”

“And got it signed!” Yata adds in delight, voice pitching higher. “He was so nice!”

Reisi glances down at the CD cover; there’s his name, written in perfect kanji, with Suoh’s signature down below.

“Oh,” he says. “Thank you.” Quite frankly, he’s rather overwhelmed by the gesture. He’d never expected this kindness from Yata, of all people.

“Anytime, Munakata-senpai!” Yata flashes him a grin, proud, and taps him on the shoulder before running off again. Reisi smiles, bemused, before pocketing the gift into his shoulder bag.

Reisi waits until he gets home before listening to the new album. The sound has distinctly matured; perhaps to match with the band’s current reputation. The tone is somber, but the sweeping feeling remains. The few love songs are all about heartbreak and loss. Well, it isn’t as if they write their songs, but it still makes Reisi shake his head in amusement. Suoh is the last person he expects to be singing about being lovelorn.

There’s a hubbub of students when Reisi arrives at the school gates the next morning. He makes his way through the throng, slightly curious but mostly unbothered.

Voices are pitched high as he elbows through. 

“Oh my gosh it’s really him!”

“I can’t believe this!”

Somehow one of them cuts through. “Munakata.” 

Reisi stops mid-step, clutching his school bag on his shoulder. He turns around, looking for the source of the voice. 

The students part, and Reisi sees exactly who they’re clustering around.

“Suoh Mikoto?” he manages, mouth falling open. 

Suoh is walking straight up at him, unbothered by the throng of people. Reisi steps back in surprise as he stops right in front of him, hands buried deep in his pockets. “Oi,” Suoh says.

Reisi glances at the corner of his eye; the assembled crowd looks just as shocked as he is. He turns his eyes back at Suoh Mikoto, who is staring at him, as if waiting for something. “Um,” Reisi says slowly. “Can I...help you?”

Something in Suoh’s expression flickers. “We have a concert next week,” he says.

At the Tokyo Dome, yes - Reisi is well aware. Tickets are sold out. “I know,” Reisi says, for lack of anything better to say. 

Suoh folds his arms. “Are you watching?”

Reisi gapes at him. “Unfortunately, I was unable to secure tickets,” he says. “I think you have another one, at Akiba Dome-” but he barely finishes his sentence before Suoh pulls out three tickets from his pocket. 

“Here,” he says, putting it in the breastpocket of Reisi’s uniform. “I’ll see you next week, Munakata,” he says, turning around with a wave.

Reisi watches his retreating back, frozen in place.

\--

“He just gave you tickets?” Yata screeches, still staring at the tickets Reisi has put in his hands. 

Reisi can’t believe it either. He glances at Fushimi, who is scowling at the tickets like they’re poisonous. 

“What did you _ do _during the signing, Yata-kun?” he asks again. 

“Nothing!” Yata repeats, waving his hands. “He just grabbed the CD from Saru’s hand, and then he asked for your name! That’s all!”

Reisi frowns. “But he knew who I was,” he says, biting his lip. Had somehow found out where he studied, and presumably waited to see him.

It’s not - impossible, Reisi thinks, that Suoh remembers him. But to go out of his way to look for him seems terribly out of character, if not foolhardy.

But well. Foolhardy is certainly one way to describe Suoh Mikoto.

Reisi shakes his head. If he knows Suoh Mikoto as much as his dreams would lead him to believe, it’s that Suoh wouldn’t go looking for him for no reason. 

And yet, here in his hands are three tickets to the most sought after concert in Japan. 

He looks up at Yata and Fushimi. “You’ll both come with me, of course,” he says, with a smile.

Yata’s eyes go wide. “O-oh - are you sure, Munakata-senpai?”

Reisi doesn’t believe it’s coincidence that Mikoto gave him three tickets. He’d heard about him from seeing Yata and Fushimi, so he must want to see them there. 

“Of course, Yata-kun,” he says. “You got me into HOMRA, after all.” He smiles. “You deserve to have this ticket.”

“Munakata-senpai!” Yata looks like he’s going to burst into tears. Fushimi scowls. 

“I’m not a fan,” Fushimi points out. 

Munakata smirks at him. “But you’ll still go.”

Fushimi folds his arms. “I’m not going to have fun.” Yata squawks in protest. “We’re going to have the _ best _ time, Saruhiko!” he insists. “We have front-row tickets to HOMRA!”

\--

Mikoto’s pacing in their trailer, half an hour before the concert starts. It’s unusual for him to feel this unsettled. He notes Kusanagi and Totsuka exchanging worried glances, but neither speak up and confront him about it. For that he’s thankful. There’s no way to explain how he feels right now.

It’s that same burning feeling. Mikoto desperately wants an outlet, to release it all, to let it engulf someone else in flames. Munakata had always been the best at taking it all in. Suddenly all Mikoto wants is to see him, _ right now_.

He has to suffer through being fussed over for his outfit, and checking his microphone, all as the opening act plays. 

“Mikoto-san,” Totsuka says, putting his hand on his shoulder. Instantly Mikoto relaxes, the tension seeping out just a bit. “Are you okay?”

“Hnn,” Mikoto grunts. Finally, after what seems to be forever, he hears the lead singer of the opening act thank the crowd, and they’re ushered into position. 

They’re on the stage. The lights are annoyingly bright, as usual. He hears Totsuka speaking to the crowd, greeting them. It’s Totsuka’s job to be cordial. Mikoto’s only here to sing. He lets his eyes scan the rows of people standing in front, growing more frustrated with each glasses-wearing person who isn’t the one he’s looking for.

Then he catches him; a little bit to the left, with Yata bouncing beside him. He’s looking straight up at Mikoto, eyes impenetrable behind the reflection of his lenses.

Mikoto feels his throat close up from some unnamed emotion. 

“- seeing us tonight! Let’s go, everybody!” Totsuka strums his guitar to the opening riff of one of their more famous songs, and the crowd goes wild. Yata’s jumping up and down, jostling a disgruntled Fushimi to his left.

Munakata’s eyes don’t leave Mikoto’s. 

Miraculously, Mikoto doesn’t miss his cue. He leans into his microphone, and gaze set, he starts to sing.

\--

Reisi doesn’t know what he’d been expecting.

It’s certainly not this; being swept by the crowd by the sheer exhilaration. Everyone is screaming the words along as Mikoto punctuates each lyric, singing with such raw emotion that the goosebumps on his skin still stay up, even after three straight songs.

The worst is that Mikoto hasn’t taken his eyes off him at all. Reisi can’t breathe under this intense focus. Yet he barely blinks; terrified to break contact. He knows the words by heart; with how many times he’s played the HOMRA CD, he’s surprised it hasn’t started skipping.

And yet he can’t open his mouth to follow Mikoto. That’s not like him at all, he thinks, to parrot the same words. His responses are always his own.

Suoh is the first to look away, called to join Totsuka as they hit the duet at the bridge, moving to share the microphone. Reisi blinks, his lungs finally remembering how to breathe.

After the third song, Mikoto pauses to take a drink. Kusanagi talks to the fervent crowd, but all Reisi can see is the arc of Suoh’s throat as he swallows each mouthful.

“It’s creepy,” he hears Fushimi mutter.

“Eh? What’s that, Saruhiko?” Yata yells, in an effort to be heard above the crowd. Reisi glances at them; Fushimi’s staring straight at him, eyes narrowed.

“Suoh Mikoto has been staring at Munakata-senpai the whole time,” he says.

At least Reisi’s eyes aren’t playing tricks on him, then.

“What?” Yata says, disbelief clear in his features. 

“I’m serious,” Fushimi says. He tilts his head at Reisi. “Isn’t that right, Munakata-senpai?”

Reisi lets his eyes flicker back to the stage; Mikoto’s capping the bottle closed, twisting it tight before putting it back down on the floor. Their eyes meet as he bends down.

It happens in a space of barely a second. “Come backstage later,” Suoh mouths at him, before walking back to the microphone. Reisi gapes, blinking repeatedly. Does he really mean that?

“Munakata-senpai?”

Reisi turns his head to Fushimi’s direction. Whatever answer Fushimi is looking for, he gets it from Reisi’s expression, because he clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes.

“Oi, Saru! Munakata-senpai, what’s he saying?” Yata asks, tugging at his sleeve.

Reisi can only shake his head. The music starts up again; the familiar thrill of Kusanagi’s bass line reverberates through the crowd, and people start to scream. 

This time, the words find their way to Reisi’s throat.

\--

Kusanagi is eyeing him suspiciously. Mikoto ignores him as he wipes his sweat off with a towel. He frowns at his reflection in the mirror, disliking the eyeliner they had forced on him earlier. He’s tempted to rub it off.

“Here.” Totsuka appears by his side, handing him some moist tissues. “It’ll smudge if you do that.”

Mikoto grunts his thank yous as he takes the offered tissues and presses it over his eyes. 

“So who’s the lucky guy, huh?” Kusanagi asks offhandedly.

As if to answer Kusanagi’s question, there’s the sound of footsteps, and all three of them turn. The curtain is pushed aside, and Munakata steps inside the holding room.

“Huh,” Totsuka says in an undertone. “I wouldn’t think that’s Mikoto-san’s type.”

Mikoto doesn’t say anything. It would be pointless to deny that Munakata isn’t his type, not in the way Totsuka is implying.

Anyway, Munakata is definitely not his type. 

“You came,” he says, eyeing him carefully.

“Yes,” Munakata says, looking slightly bewildered. “I confess, I’m rather confused.” He manages an uncertain smile at Mikoto and his bandmates.

“You’re not the only one,” Kusanagi says, with one raised eyebrow. He glances at Mikoto, who steadfastly refuses his gaze.

As always, Totsuka comes to his rescue. “We’ll leave you two alone!” he chirps, taking Kusanagi by the arm. 

Mikoto watches them go, the curtains left in a flurry. Munakata steps aside to let them pass. 

The silence becomes evident as soon they’re left alone together. Munakata is watching him like a wary animal. Mikoto shrugs, and settles down on his chair. He snags a bottle of beer, and with a little pause, grabs another one. “Drink?”

“We’re underage,” Munakata informs him, with an eyeroll. He takes it irregardless, and leans against the wall.

Mikoto grins as he pops the bottle off. “Make yourself comfortable, Munakata.” He’d take out a cigarette or two, but their manager prohibits him from smoking on concert nights. It annoys him, but it’s better to avoid fights with the person who’s getting them money. Or at least Kusanagi says so. Mikoto has never been in the business of listening to people in authority. 

Munakata is staring at him, disapproval clear from his expression. At least that hasn’t changed. Mikoto gestures to the seat across him. After a moment of hesitation, Munakata primly sits down and takes a sip of his drink.

The silence falls over them once more, but this time more companionable than the first. Mikoto isn’t abashed to stare at Munakata openly; in fact, he takes the chance to drink the sight of him in, without any further distractions. He’s thinner than Mikoto remembers; though he still holds himself in the same regal way - shoulders pushed back, head held high. Even doing something as juvenile as drinking, he exudes grace and confidence.

Mikoto smiles wryly. Yep, same old Munakata.

If Munakata’s bothered by his laser-focused attention, he doesn’t say a thing. He’s gazing back at Mikoto, though with more curiosity than animosity. There is the absence of a smug smile on his lips, which Mikoto is loath to admit makes him look off somehow, like a painting that’s incomplete. 

“Why did you invite me here?” Munakata asks, once his beer bottle is halfway empty. 

Mikoto shrugs. “Wanted to.” It was strange, to see Munakata as one in the crowd, singing and clapping along with everyone else, when he clearly stood out. Mikoto could see no one else. He’d never been like the rest, Mikoto muses, eyeing Munakata from his view. He doesn’t belong in the faceless masses.

Munakata huffs. “You haven’t changed at all.”

At that, Mikoto sits up. “You remember, then?” His tone is so hopeful even he winces at it.

Munakata purses his lips. “How could I forget,” he says, with a shake of his head. He puts his bottle down on the ground, and leans forward from his seat. “Is that why you came looking for me, Suoh Mikoto?”

Mikoto shrugs. “Even if you can’t remember, I would have still wanted to talk to you.” Just to see, really, how different of a man Munakata Reisi would be. That would have been interesting to know. But this, the knowledge that Munakata also remembers, relieves Mikoto in a way he hadn’t expected. He feels a rush of both nostalgia and belonging. Just like when they were Kings, and no one else had understood how he felt about that Sword hanging over his head.

“I suppose.” Munakata sounds dubious. He takes another sip of his beer bottle, and wrinkles his nose. “I don’t suppose you have something a bit more...smooth to the taste?”

“Didn’t hear you complaining while you were drinking most of it,” Mikoto says, grinning as he stands up. 

“It’s impolite to complain after being invited,” Munakata informs him, also pushing himself off his seat.

“Whatever, Munakata,” Mikoto says, taking a step closer to him. It’s strange; if he extends his arm, he can touch him. Know he’s real, and not some messed up dream. “As if that ever stopped you.”

He’s not sure who closes the gap first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u believe i'm still writing mikorei in the year of our lord 2k19 
> 
> honestly this fic idea has been swirling in my brain for years, both as a) homra as a band au (started from [this](https://colourpsychedelic.tumblr.com/post/60921033408/tess-forces-me-to-unleash-snippets-of-my-five)) and b) reincarnation where only both of them remember au. somehow they fused together and here we are!! big thanks to given by kizu natsuki for giving me the extra push to work on this. everyone please watch/read it and scream with me :)


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been three days since the HOMRA concert. Suoh Mikoto, ever the barbarian, can’t be bothered to own a phone. Reisi despairs of this, because people invented those for communication. 

But Mikoto has never been particularly good at communication.

What he is good at, apparently, is action.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something else?” Reisi asks him, as Suoh trails after him on the streets. He’s at least wearing sunglasses, and his hair isn’t gelled up, but enough people have glanced at him, scrutinizing his face. Of course he stands out like a sore thumb. Suoh has probably never learned to blend in his entire life.

Suoh shrugs. “It’s the last day of the tour in this region.”

“And so you’re spending it with me?” Reisi asks, in mock amazement. 

“I won’t see you for another six weeks.” That’s when the final leg of the tour ends, a fact that Yata has said so many times that it’s embedded in Reisi’s brain. Still, the thought that he’ll be Suoh’s first stop once his obligations are done makes Reisi’s heart race. 

The truth is, Suoh has been visiting him every single day since the night of the concert. Reisi should be concerned that Suoh knows where to find him, but then again his life is generally monotonous. It should be easy for him to fill in the gaps.

Reisi doesn’t really do much beyond club activities and cram school. For all intents and purposes, he’s a normal high school student, doing normal high school student activities. The calling of a King had come to him much later than to Suoh. Perhaps fame will also come for him, he thinks wryly. Far in the future, hopefully.

Suoh Mikoto, in contrast, should be doing far more important things, such as prepping for his concert later tonight.

“What would Kusanagi-san say?” he asks, not for the first time. He supposes if Suoh did have a phone, it would be ringing nonstop. He’s almost surprised no one has come barging into his home to pick Suoh up. 

But then again, Suoh always does show up when he’s needed. So there’s really no point of Reisi worrying about it.

Suoh just shrugs. “He hasn’t said anything,” he says, and Reisi will just have to take that at face value. It’s hard to imagine Kusanagi hasn’t said something, but he may have not said it to Mikoto personally. Whatever happens between HOMRA is none of Reisi’s business.

They slip past the gate of Reisi’s house in companionable silence. Suoh toes his shoes off, padding after Reisi as he climbs up the stairs to his room. It’s the second time he’s brought him up here, not that Suoh does much; he just lies down on his bed and sleeps. 

True enough, Suoh heads straight for his bed, settling down on the mattress like he owns it. Reisi only rolls his eyes, but sits on the chair by the desk, setting his school bag down. He takes out his textbooks and notebooks, ready to have another quiet day with Suoh lounging by his side. Perhaps later he can accompany Reisi as he buys the groceries for the family.

“My mother asked if you’ll stay for dinner tonight,” Reisi remembers to ask fifteen minutes later. “But you have a concert later, so I’ll just tell her no.” He turns around, half-expecting to find Suoh snoring on his bed. Instead, Suoh is sitting up, expression thoughtfully.

“You listen to it?” Suoh asks abruptly. Confused, Reisi tilts his head, following the line of Suoh’s gaze. It ends directly on the stack of HOMRA CDs on his desk. 

A slight flush works its way up Reisi’s face, one that doesn’t go unnoticed, by the quirk of Suoh’s lips. “I wouldn’t have gone to your concert otherwise,” he replies haughtily, shaking his head. 

“Hmm.” Suoh grins. “What do you think of it?”

“Honestly? It’s very...loud,” Reisi says. “But it stands out from the rest of the generic pop-manufactured sounds, so your fame goes unsaid.”

“Is that a compliment, Munakata?” Reisi is tempted to rip that shit-eating grin off Suoh’s face.

“It’s an honest opinion,” Reisi huffs. “Not that I can claim to know much about music. I’m not a critic, Suoh. And it’s nice to listen to while studying,” he adds.

“So you like the sound of my voice,” Suoh asks next. 

Reisi sighs audibly. “Are you fishing for compliments now, Suoh?” 

“I just wanted to know,” Suoh says, though the grin hasn’t tapered off the least bit. 

“Well now you do,” Reisi informs him. “To be honest, I quite prefer the one on the CD. That one doesn’t disturb me as much.”

Suoh only laughs, and goes back to sleep.

\--

Six weeks is too long. Long enough for Mikoto to actually go out of his way to get a burner phone and call Munakata up.

“How’d you get my number,” is the first thing he asks, once he finds it out it’s Mikoto on the line.

Mikoto shrugs. Truthfully, he’d asked his manager, who had scoped Munakata out ever since Mikoto had invited him over backstage. “He could be a stalker,” their manager had insisted, which Mikoto finds ironic, considering it was Mikoto who had gone out of his way to find him in the first place.

There’s an audible sigh on the other end of the line. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Mikoto says. “I’m bored. Talk to me.”

“Missing the sound of _ my _voice?” Munakata teases. “Maybe I should make a record-breaking hit single and be played all over the airwaves.”

Mikoto snorts. “I’d like to see you try.”

The conversation continues in the same vein, and Mikoto loses himself in the familiarity of it all. Munakata is less antagonistic, if he’s honest. It’s not entirely the same. But he’s still a stick-in-the-mud, nagging Mikoto on the littlest things, asking him if he’s eating properly or if he’s slept enough. Mikoto likes that he cares.

He hears footsteps, and he turns to see Kusanagi entering the room. His bandmate spots him huddled in the corner, phone in hand, and his eyes nearly bug off. 

“Who are you talking to?” he asks, though from his expression he already knows. Mikoto doesn’t explain. He just turns away, letting Munakata’s voice wash away everything else. He hears Kusanagi sigh, far away, the sound fading, and once again he’s left alone with only Munakata for company.

The words itself don’t matter. Munakata could be reading off a lunch menu and Mikoto would have been placated. He’s barely making out what he’s saying, when he hears a sharp rap at the door. He raises his head to see his manager motioning to his wristwatch.

Mikoto sighs. “I have to go,” he says.

“All right. Good luck at your concert.” Munakata’s voice is steady as he murmurs his goodbyes, and Mikoto misses him already once he hears the telltale click of a call ended.

\--

It’s laughably easy to track Suoh as he goes from concert to concert. All Reisi has to do is check the band’s Twitter tags to view hundreds of photos, all from the live performances. 

Yata keeps him updated too, sharing video snippets and fancams. “We were so lucky to be able to see them live,” he says, in hushed tones. “I still can’t believe it until now.”

Fushimi isn’t as awed. “I would have thought they’d have more stage presence,” he says. “But then again, perhaps he was distracted.” There’s a glance in Reisi’s direction.

Reisi only smiles. True, Suoh does seem more alive in the videos he’s seen. Maybe it would be nice to go to a HOMRA concert without Suoh knowing. He wonders if Suoh would be able to sense him in the crowd. The idea seems rather tantalizing.

He tunes out his underclassmen’s argument as he scans a closeup photo of Suoh, the light reflecting the flecks of gold in his eyes. He looks like some otherworldly being - like a god, or perhaps (and Reisi chuckles), a _ King. _It’s a wonder he hasn’t been caught up in this madness just yet.

Reisi likes his life as it is; quiet and peaceful. He’s a normal high school student. But of course Suoh is here to ruin it. 

He should have never expected anything less. 

\--

When Mikoto can’t get through Munakata’s cell - probably in class or some other trivial thing - the restlessness snakes all over his veins. It’s not something he can sleep off, so he takes off to the streets, wandering aimlessly for hours before the concert call time.

This ugly feeling hasn’t haunted him since meeting Kusanagi and Totsuka again - their presence has helped calm it somewhat. The boredom he’s familiar with, but the helpless rattling in his chest is something else. He doesn’t particularly know what’s wrong; he just knows that Munakata can make it go away. 

But right now Munakata isn’t answering, and Mikoto needs to look for other solutions, or else he’ll go out of his mind.

He’s padding down the alleys, not particularly caring where he’s going. The light in the sky is falling, but Mikoto has never minded the dark. He winds past a sharp corner, watching the cobblestones meet the tiles as he finds himself in an intersection. The sounds of passersby fills the area once more, snatching his precious quiet. One of them is staring directly at him as he emerges from the street. He lowers his head, intending to avoid their gaze, but the hint of white arrests him.

He stops and stares back, the cigarette falling off between his fingers.

“Mikoto,” Anna says. There’s a lurch in Mikoto’s chest. People say his name, all the time - scream it, whisper it, cry over it. He doesn’t know what to do hearing it on Anna’s tongue.

Beside Anna is a woman just as familiar. She, too, stops to stare as her charge refuses to move. 

“Oh!” Honami says, eyes wide. “Aren’t you - I’ve seen you on TV!” she says, almost excited. 

Mikoto doesn’t think he can survive being forgotten by Honami a second time. He turns his head away, pained. But a hand reaches for his wrist.

“Mikoto,” Anna repeats. Her inflection hasn’t changed at all.

“She’s a fan!” Honami says. “She always loves listening to your songs - don’t you, Anna?”

Anna is still looking at him. “Your red is just as lovely,” she whispers. 

And Mikoto feels his world edge, just a little.

\--

He gets both of them backstage tickets. Kusanagi looks absolutely confused when they walk in past the curtain half an hour after the show winds down. Totsuka squeals a little, cooing over Anna and how beautiful she is.

“Tatara,” she says, and Mikoto can see unshed tears blinking in Anna’s eyes. 

“That’s me!” Totsuka grins, striking a pose. “What’s your name, little girl?” 

Anna glances at Suoh; he stares back, hard. She turns back to Totsuka, a quieter smile on her lips. “Kushina Anna,” she tells him, and she reaches out to hug him. “I’m so glad you’re doing well.”

If Totsuka thinks that’s a strange thing for a fan to say, he doesn’t mention anything. Instead he returns the hug just as fiercely, and then he whips out his guitar to play Anna some of their unreleased songs.

Meanwhile, Honami chats Suoh and Kusanagi up. She’s still as bubbly and as unnerved as ever - but then again, she isn’t a starstruck teenage girl. “Anna loves your music!” she says brightly. “It’s good for her - she’s rather shy in school, but this she can share with her classmates.”

“Thank you,” Kusanagi says, as gentlemanly as ever. “We’re so fortunate to have fans like her.”

“It must be amazing to be so young and playing all over!” Honami muses. “How do you do it?”

Mikoto lets Kusanagi handle the conversation. He just lets himself stare at Honami and Anna, how at home they are. How they should belong with Mikoto, here. But he doesn’t know how to hold on. 

Fortunately Anna doesn’t have that problem. She walks over to her side once more, putting her hand over his.

“I’ll see you again,” Anna says to him. Mikoto nods, and then pulls her into a hug. 

“Thank you,” he manages, roughly, and he does his best not to choke up as the two of them walk away. 

Anna smiles back at him as she waves, never looking away until they’re out of sight. The lump in Mikoto’s throat feels insurmountable.

Overwhelmed, he falls back onto the nearest couch. He closes his eyes, letting the sounds of Totsuka and Kusanagi fussing become nothing but background. All he wants to do is sleep, even though the buzzing in his head is much too alive to ever let him actually pass out.

When he finally sits up again, Kusanagi is staring over at him critically. “Thought you suddenly changed your mind on your type,” he mutters, still glancing at the chair Honami had occupied. Mikoto rolls his eyes.

“Honami might be more _ your _ type, Kusanagi-san!” Totsuka chirps, chuckling. “They seemed lovely though! Where did you meet them, Mikoto-san?”

“At the street,” Mikoto replies.

Kusanagi groans. “Do you just give these passes to random people, Mikoto?”

“I’ll hand them out to someone you’ll like next time,” Mikoto says. He supposes he can keep an eye out for that blonde girl Kusanagi had liked - the one from SCEPTER4. Maybe Reisi even knows her already. After all, he’s met Fushimi.

He tells Munakata that same night, calling even when it’s already past midnight. Fortunately for him, Munakata answers, picking up more from his silence more than his stilted sentences. 

“She knew me,” Mikoto says, trying not to choke. 

It’s a little after that Munakata tells Mikoto that after he had passed, Anna has ascended as the Red King to replace him. It makes guilt fester in Mikoto’s stomach - he’d had never wanted that burden on anyone. But from how Munakata tells it, Anna dealt with it much better than he ever had. 

“Maybe Kings remember,” Munakata surmises. 

Mikoto shrugs. It’s a plausible theory. Still, there’s not much point in thinking about it. They remember, for better or for worse. It’s not like they can do anything about it.

“Sometimes I think it would be better to forget,” Mikoto tells Munakata. To his relief, Munakata doesn’t argue that point. 

They talk for the rest of the night. Mikoto doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he does there’s an unfamiliar weight on his forehead.

Totsuka laughs at him the whole morning for the imprint of the phone on his face. 

\--

As the weeks pass, Suoh’s calls become more frequent. Reisi doesn’t know if it’s because of the chance encounter with Anna, or something else. He’s tempted to ask Suoh if he’s gone and chased the little girl as well, but they only stayed in Kansai region for four days. It would only be rubbing salt in the wound.

They even talk one entire Saturday for eight hours straight. Suoh puts him on speaker phone, letting the silence be their own communication. Reisi hears the muffled sound of other people coming in and out, their bits of tuning up their instruments, and above it all, Suoh’s steady breathing. Knowing they’re tethered somewhat keeps Suoh grounded.

It’s on the last week, when Suoh is the farthest away, distance-wise, that he calls Reisi in the middle of the night. Reisi, who’s become accustomed to staying up late, answers by the third week.

“I want to see you,” Suoh says without preamble. Reisi almost drops his phone. The sheer want dripping from Suoh’s voice is so unlike the person that Reisi knows that Reisi would accuse him of being possessed by the Colorless King.

But Reisi understands the longing. The separation does neither of them good, though at least he has Suoh’s CDs to keep him company. He hasn’t listened to anything else in weeks. 

“Soon,” he says, coaxing patience in his own tone. If he betrays the desire that’s welling up in him, it will only make Suoh even more impatient. He doesn’t want him to do anything reckless. 

“Munakata.” Suoh sounds pained. 

“Suoh,” he returns. “Be patient. It’s just a few more days.”

“Five.” He’s surprised Suoh has counted. “We arrive late at the airport.”

“I can meet you after,” Reisi offers, a compromise he never would have made in his past life. It’s not like him. But he’s not that person anymore. He’s learned from mistakes, hopefully for the better. 

Suoh breathes out. “Good.” He’s barely holding himself together. Reisi’s heart thumps in that careful pain, knowing how the edge of loneliness feels.

“See you,” he says. “Good night, Suoh.” He doesn’t press end to the call. 

\--

Mikoto almost kisses the ground once they land back in Narita airport. He’s been jittery throughout the plane ride, hands shaking. On stage he can block everything else; lose himself in the music of Kusanagi’s bass line and Totsuka’s guitar strings, but away from the lights all Mikoto can think of is _ Munakata Munakata Munakata. _The pull of gravity drags him where he ought to be.

He’s hurrying out, barely murmuring his goodbyes, ignoring the way their manager yells “Suoh-san!” in frustration. He’s behaved for six whole weeks, goddamn it; he deserves this getaway. He gets into the first taxi he finds and rattles off Munakata’s address like a man reciting a prayer. 

He shoves a handful of bills into the driver’s hand once they pull to a stop. He’s already out of the car, and pounding past the driveway, running up the apartment complex stairs two at a time. He’s hit the third floor already when he physically slams his back against a wall to stop himself from running straight into someone.

“Suoh Mikoto?”

“My flight landed early,” he says, breathless, in the face of Munakata’s shock. Munakata’s pulling his jacket close, one sleeve hanging out. 

“- you could have told me,” Munakata says, eyes narrowing. “I was on my way to see you - what if we missed each other - ” 

Mikoto doesn’t let him finish complaining.

\--

If Mikoto could have his way, he’d keep Munakata by his side.

He’s sure Munakata would have objections - he seems perfectly adept at being a high school student. Munakata’s mom praises his schoolwork. He even has after school activities, which cuts his time with Mikoto even less.

“They’re called responsibilities, Suoh,” Munakata tells him, with a shake of his head. “I imagine you’re unfamiliar with them.”

That’s an obvious lie and they both know it. Suoh is shackled to his band and his friendships, but out of his own volition. The way he can’t exist without Munakata is the same with Totsuka and Kusanagi. He’d self-destructed due to Totsuka’s death, but if Munakata hadn’t shown up as the Blue King years prior, he might have self-destructed anyway. Munakata had somehow delayed the madness eating him back then, and now Suoh is convinced he’s one of anchors weighing him down. 

It’s not the worst feeling. For one, Munakata understands him, which relieves him more than he cares to admit. He’s tired of other people putting words in his mouth, and being a famous persona is more annoying than being a King. People fuss over him for hours, worried about what he’ll say or how he’ll act or what he’ll wear. Mikoto doesn’t really care about that kind of thing. But it keeps Totsuka happy and Kusanagi proud, so Mikoto can’t not. 

Besides - he owes them this much. He’s been a burden to both of them. Munakata may not say it, but he knows a thing or two about atonement.

He owes Munakata things too, though the other man doesn’t seem interested in collecting. He nags Mikoto, true, but there’s never a mention of the hand Mikoto had forced him to play. Sometimes Mikoto wishes he’d be more cruel. He deserves it.

Instead, Munakata keeps letting him take and take, and Mikoto is not a selfless enough man to stop. So he hoards Munakata’s time, resentful of things like school and classmates and the prospect of a bright future that divide his attention.

He sees other students hang around Munakata by the school gates; they talk and laugh and smile, and Mikoto wishes such things were beyond his notice. Munakata’s not like them, ordinary and boring and unimportant. 

Even the fact that Yata Misaki can be in the same building with Munakata for hours’ end irritates him. “We’re not even in the same year,” Munakata tells him, with a roll of his eyes. “We hardly even talk.”

“So he just got you a signed CD for no reason?”

“Jealousy is unbecoming, Suoh,” Munakata chides him, as he pushes up his glasses. “Stop being difficult. I don’t say anything about your legions of fans.”

“I don’t know a single one of them,” Mikoto says, and it’s true. And he doesn’t care about them. Munakata, in the meantime, has just bought some ridiculous gacha item at a nearby 7-11 because, and Mikoto quotes, “it reminded him of Yata-san.”

Munakata only rolls his eyes. “You are being utterly unreasonable,” he says, and he almost sounds fond.

That’s the problem with Munakata. He always thinks Mikoto isn’t being serious. 

But Mikoto always means what he says. Otherwise, he wouldn’t bother saying them.

\--

It’s become common knowledge that Suoh Mikoto knows Reisi, because the former clearly has no compunctions about being low-key. If Reisi had thought Suoh was insistent six weeks ago, then he would not have imagined now. Without a concert to take his time away, Suoh spends almost all his free time with Reisi, or waiting for him.

Students from all years hang out by their gate, desperate for a glimpse of HOMRA’s frontman. Even Yata had nervously sidled to Reisi, at first unbelieving of the rumors. Fushimi, on the other hand, sports an expression clearly torn between being smug and suspicious. 

“You didn’t even _ know _him back then,” Fushimi points out, after Reisi vaguely explains how this situation has come to be. “But he was watching you the whole time at the concert. Wasn’t he, Munakata-senpai?”

Yata’s mouth is open. “Is that why he gave you tickets, Munakata-senpai?”

Reisi sighs. “I suppose he wanted to meet me then,” he admits. “Suoh and I...it’s hard to explain. We’re not particularly friends,” he adds. 

“But how did he know you to begin with?” Yata wants to know. 

_ From another life. _Reisi can only shake his head with a laugh. “It turns out we knew each other from before.”

“Like childhood friends who’ve been reunited?”

“Something like that,” Reisi says indulgently. “Still, when you gave my name to him at the signing, that was what prompted him to come and see me again.”

Yata’s eyes are wide. “That is so...it must have been like fate!”

Reisi blinks. “Pardon?”

“It’s like something from a movie!” Yata continues, slowly clenching his fist in emotion. “Isn’t it, Saruhiko?”

Fushimi only rolls his eyes. “I think it’s creepy,” he says in an undertone. “He’s essentially a stalker, Munakata-senpai.”

Reisi can only laugh. “When you put it that way, it’s true,” he agrees. 

“Mikoto-san isn’t a stalker!” Yata protests. “Besides, you don’t mind, do you, Munakata-senpai?” 

He supposes that’s true. He certainly hasn’t done anything to particularly discourage Suoh’s behavior, after all. 

Even his own family has become slowly accustomed to his presence in their house. Fortunately his parents are easygoing, and neither follow much of the contemporary pop culture. His brother had remarked once that Suoh seemed familiar, but more because he resembled some person in his university rather than because of his presumed fame.

Reisi’s glad that he doesn’t have to explain anything to them. They’ve always understood him best, and he’s grateful for that. Sure, he doesn’t have bonds to his Clansmen the way Suoh had formed, but his blood family has always been more than enough.

“Oh!” Yata’s peering out the window now. “I can see him now!”

Reisi follows his gaze and sees the telltale red hair by the street. “I should head out and meet him,” he says, with a rueful sigh. “He’s not known for his patience.” Still, he’s smiling even as he takes the stairs going down. Regardless of what a nuisance Suoh is, Reisi can still count on him to liven things up.

\--

“Are you seeing that guy again?” Kusanagi asks as Mikoto walks past him at the studio after they finish band practice that afternoon. 

Mikoto stops mid-step. He’s tempted to say no - he never used to seek Munakata out; they’d end up seeing each other regardless. But then he’d be lying.

Kusanagi takes his silence for his answer and sighs. “You’ve got it bad,” he proclaims, with a roll of his eyes.

Mikoto frowns. 

“You could be more careful, you know,” Kusanagi adds. “People see you with this guy. And people _ talk_.”

“So?” 

“So - Mikoto, are you at least thinking about this,” Kusanagi all but explodes. “He’s a normal person. You’re famous - people could be sending him death threats because of you.”

The idea that Munakata is a normal person sounds so ludicrous to Mikoto that he almost laughs out loud. He gets what Kusanagi is saying, though. “I don’t think you need to worry,” he reassures him. “Munakata’s not bothered by that kind of thing.”

“That isn’t the point and you know it,” Kusanagi says. “You haven’t introduced us to this guy - one day some shady interviewer is going to ask about him and Totsuka and I will have nothing to say.”

“You don’t have to know him,” Mikoto says, getting irritated now.

Kusanagi narrows his eyes. “And why not?”

Because Munakata isn’t something Mikoto has to share with this side of his life. But he doesn’t know how to articulate that, so he stays quiet.

Kusanagi huffs. “I want to meet him,” he says, in a tone that allows for no argument.

Childishly, Mikoto wants to point out that Kusanagi is neither his manager nor his mother, and has no right to such demands. He folds his arms. “Fine. Can I go now?”

\--

That Mikoto’s bandmates want to meet him does not come as a surprise to Reisi - he’s only amused that Mikoto’s somehow sidestepped this moment until now. 

They’re clustered in a cafe booth in their managing company’s building, far away from prying eyes. The place is attempting to exude a facade of normality, as is his current companions, which Reisi knows is anything but. He adopts a smile for Kusanagi and Totsuka, who survey him with polite wariness. Beside him, Suoh is sullen. 

“Nice to finally meet you, Munakata-san,” Kusanagi says. “Well, really, again, but Mikoto here hadn’t bothered with introductions.”

Reisi laughs a little. “Yes, Suoh has terrible manners, as you know.” If Kusanagi’s surprised by his commiseration, he doesn’t show it. 

“So how do you and Mikoto-san know each other?” Totsuka asks eagerly, leaning close. Reisi glances at Suoh, but his glance is elsewhere, body slouched. Clearly he’s bored and would rather be anywhere but here.

“We know each other from way back,” Reisi says, intentionally vague. It’s the same explanation he’s given to Fushimi and Yata, after all. 

Kusanagi frowns, but doesn’t push further. “But what do you guys do? Mikoto disappears for hours - I assume he’s with you.”

“We don’t do much, actually,” Reisi admits, opting for the truth. He’d wanted no underage drinking scandals, so Mikoto just follows him home and watches him do his homework while he naps in the room beside the garden. “Suoh waits for me after school and then helps out with my errands.” 

Kusanagi raises an eyebrow as he glances as his bandmate. Reisi stifles a chuckle.

“He picks you up after school? How romantic!” Totsuka gushes. Suoh manages a grunt in protest. 

“What kind of errands?” Kusanagi asks now.

Reisi shrugs. “Buying groceries, cleaning the house, that kind of thing,” he says. “I’m a high school student, Kusanagi-san - my life is hardly interesting.”

“You’ve brought him to your house?” Totsuka asks, eyes wide.

“I have,” Reisi confirms. His parents, surprisingly, like Mikoto. He’s less of a lout when he’s around, even helping with chores without complaint. Reisi’s pleasantly surprised at this.

Kusanagi looks disbelieving. “He’s met your family?”

“Yeah,” Suoh interjects, putting his elbows on the table. “Are you guys done yet?” He sounds so irritated, Reisi isn’t able to stop his laughter this time. 

“I can’t believe you’ve met Munakata-san’s parents, Mikoto-san!” Totsuka cries, looking pleased. “This must be really serious!”

Suoh rolls his eyes, and meets Reisi’s pleased glance. He scowls back at him. “Stop looking so amused, Munakata.”

“This is entirely on you, Suoh,” Reisi replies, fiddling with his glasses. “You could have told all this to your friends a long time ago, instead of letting them presume our relationship.”

Suoh glares daggers at him.

Kusanagi leans back. “Well,” he says. “You seem to have quite the head on your shoulders. You can probably handle Mikoto fine.” 

Reisi laughs. “That much, I can do.” There’s an exaggerated roll of Suoh’s eyes. _ Can you really, _his eyes say.

Well, Reisi’s had a few years of practice. It’s not quite on par with Kusanagi and Totsuka, but it should suffice.

“There’s really not much between me and Suoh,” Reisi says, as candidly as he dares. “We just find each other’s company...familiar.”

If Totsuka is perturbed by his phrasing, he doesn’t show it. Instead he smiles in that same enthusiastic way, and takes one of Reisi’s hands between his. 

“I’m glad Mikoto-san met you, Munakata-san!” he says, stunningly sincere. “I can tell you’re good for him.”

“Yeah,” Kusanagi agrees, before Reisi can interject. “You’re ok.” His frames obstruct his eyes, leaving Reisi unable to pinpoint Kusanagi’s true feelings. It’s exhausting, to toe the line of honesty and yet be unable to lay out the truth. 

He settles for taking another sip of his tea. The questions ease up, lending to much more relaxed conversation. He supposes there’s not much left to answer, anyway. 

\--

“Aren’t you going to tell them we’re _ not _together?” Reisi asks later, as Suoh walks him back home. 

Suoh shrugs. “It’s too much work,” he says. “This is easier.”

“For you,” Reisi says, with a roll of his eyes.

Suoh pauses. “Is it bothering you?” he asks, with uncharacteristic seriousness that takes Reisi off-guard.

“...No,” Reisi says, after really thinking about it. There has been some inkling in gossip blogs lately, but there isn’t much unsavory information they can unearth on him. The most is that he’s a perfectly normal and boring high school student. There is hardly anything to spin from that. “It has the potential to become bothersome, I won’t deny, but personally there won’t be much of a negative effect on me.”

“Mm,” Suoh says, hands in his pockets. “If it gets out of hand, I’ll do something about it.”

“Really?” Reisi says, slightly disbelieving. 

Mikoto just shoots him a look. Reisi shrugs. “Well, if you say so,” he says. “I don’t know why you simply can’t be honest with Kusanagi-san and Totsuka-san. You tell them everything.”

“They won’t understand,” Suoh says. “It’s - ” there’s a crease in his forehead as he struggles to explain, “- they don’t remember,” he says instead. “So it can’t be explained.”

Suoh has a point there. The mere idea of telling people he and Suoh have a connection because of their past selves sound ludicrous, not to mention insane. He might be brought to a psychiatric hospital with that kind of admission. 

“So you just decided to let them continue on with their assumptions?” 

Suoh shrugs. “I don’t think they’re going to believe me otherwise.”

“I suppose,” Reisi says grudgingly. It does seem out of place, that suddenly Suoh Mikoto of HOMRA fame is spending time with a relative nobody like him. Of course the initial conclusion people will reach is that they’re dating.

And in a way most of the activities they do engage in would strike someone as intimate. It’s much more complex than that, but Reisi can hardly hope people can understand. He’s simultaneously a relaxant and a stimulant for Suoh Mikoto - a fact that goes both ways, much as Reisi pains himself to admit. Suoh is a distraction, that much is sure. But at the same time he brightens up Reisi’s relatively drab and straightforward world - a wildcard that Reisi delights in. He makes Reisi feel alive. 

He doesn’t want to live in another world where Suoh Mikoto is gone forever.

\--

Totsuka suggest they write a song for their next album. “Wouldn’t you want to write something about Munakata-san, Mikoto-san?” he asks, with a bounce in his step. “It would be good to have a love song as our next single!”

Mikoto barely suppresses a snort. Munakata’s not the type to appreciate a love song. Besides, it’s not like he has words for Munakata. 

They’ve never needed words between the two of them.

“I don’t think they’re anything like the love songs, Totsuka,” Kusanagi says.

“You think?” Totsuka tilts his head, his shrewd look focused on Mikoto. “They’re very romantic together.”

Mikoto shares a look with Kusanagi. 

“Well, you can do what you want,” Kusanagi says eventually. “But I doubt Mikoto will help.” 

Totsuka pouts. “Please, Mikoto-san?” he pleads, eyes wide. Mikoto has always been indulgent to Totsuka, from his previous life, and now is no different. He’s gotten Mikoto into a band, for goodness’ sake.

Mikoto sighs, knowing the inevitability. “Whatever.”

\--

Since their introduction, Totsuka has hinted at wanting to see Reisi more often, a wish that Reisi is happy to grant, more for his own selfishness than out of actual consideration. After all, it gives him the opportunity to step inside Suoh’s place - a shared pad between the bandmates - one weekend afternoon. Totsuka waves at him enthusiastically from the couch, where he’s fiddling with a handheld video camera.

“Mikoto-san’s in his room!” He says with a roguish wink, gesturing to a door to the left. Reisi nods at this, hesitating to keep Totsuka company in the meantime. But Totsuka only waves him away, saying something about not keeping Suoh waiting. Reisi walks up to the door with mild trepidation, and knocks. When no one answers, he lets himself in.

Suoh’s lying down on his bed. He raises his head at the sound of the door opening, and his lips quirk up at the sight of him. “Munakata.”

“Suoh,” Reisi greets, closing the door behind him. A quick glance around shows the room has hardly any personal effects or furniture; the bed takes up more than half the space, with only a small drawer beside it. Reisi would have thought it barely lived in. There is, however, a guitar hooked up beside the bed, garish in its red color. 

“I didn’t know you could play the guitar,” he says. 

Suoh glances at him, question written all over his expression.

Reisi feels forced to explain. “Yata told me before you don’t play any instruments.”

Suoh pauses. “You’re such a fan,” he says, with a gleeful smirk. Reisi rolls his eyes, but only settles beside him on the bed, their arms touching. Hardly a minute later Suoh is tugging him down, and Reisi lets himself be dragged horizontally. Reisi’s own bed is far too small to make such a position comfortable. But Suoh’s bed is expansive, and the mattress is uncommonly soft; his personal vice, Reisi is sure, as sleep seems to be one of the few things Suoh enjoys. 

He takes off his glasses and puts them down on top of the drawer before closing his eyes. Suoh’s warmth is solid beside him.

“Nothing to do today?” Suoh asks, almost teasing.

“I’m resting, Suoh,” Reisi replies, eyes still closed. “Be good and stay quiet.” 

Surprisingly enough, Suoh complies. They spend what could be hours just lying beside each other. He doesn’t exactly fall asleep, but it’s the closest to daydreaming he can get. The light from the horizon dips lower out the window. 

It’s a perfectly wasted afternoon, and Reisi revels in it.

Sometime later, Suoh sits up and reaches to snag the guitar. Reisi, still lying down, perks his ears with some interest as he strikes a few chords. Suoh soon starts to strum in earnest, forming a halting melody. Reisi soaks in the tune; it comes in waves, lapping at an imaginary shore with strong and steady beat. The sound is unlike anything HOMRA would produce.

“That’s new,” Reisi comments, opening his eyes.

“It is,” Suoh says. “Totsuka wanted me to write something for you.”

The fact takes Reisi by surprise, and he stares at Suoh for several moments. “Did you, then?” His heartbeat is oddly stuttered, stretching with each second Suoh hasn’t answered.

Suoh plucks at the strings, the tone fragile and cold. “I’m still looking for the words,” he admits. “But this-” and he plays it again, and the fragile sound crystallizes to something different, crawling up Reisi’s bones and splintering at his core. It reminds of him the sword that had once hung above his head, dangling in its inevitability. It’s mournful and unyielding, gripping tight to a person’s resolve.

Reisi listens more. 

He can almost see his Sword of Damocles shining again in the sky, pristine and unclouded. For a moment his breath is caught; Suoh had never seen him at his worst, his lowest. This is Reisi raw and unfiltered, as Suoh had seen him. A King who had stood his ground against his own. 

When Reisi had first begun to listen to HOMRA’s music, he’d enjoyed the familiarity of it, quite beyond Suoh’s vocals. The feeling it evokes reminds Reisi often of his dreams, of the man he’d once been, of the cause he’d once fought for. This song stirs up the same emotions, amplified exponentially, to the point that he’s torn between wanting to listen to it forever or erasing it from his memory. It’s a terrifying feeling, and Reisi has not felt real terror in such a long time.

How completely like Suoh Mikoto to pluck a tune straight from Reisi’s very being and make it tangible. Reisi should have expected nothing less.

He leans his head against Suoh’s shoulder, making him stop mid-strum. Suoh grunts softly. “What do you think?”

Reisi answers him in the way he knows Suoh would like best.

\--

Totsuka, naturally, loves the song. “This is wonderful,” he gushes, after Mikoto’s finished playing it for him in its entirety. “And totally unexpected of what I thought you’d produce, Mikoto-san!” He grins brightly. “But yet - that makes sense, right? We’d never expected Munakata-san, and here we are.”

Mikoto just grunts. It’s difficult to put words to it, so he’d let Totsuka deal with it. He’d hoped, perversely, that Totsuka would struggle, and eventually give up on it. Of course, he knows better. When Totsuka brandishes a piece of paper with the lyrics at him, Mikoto peers and frowns. 

“You’re putting a love song straight into Mikoto’s mouth,” Kusanagi says, clearly amused.

“Well, he wouldn’t do it himself,” Totsuka says, with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe you can do better, Mikoto-san!”

Personally, Mikoto doesn’t have the words for the song at all. So he just shrugs. “Let’s just see if it works.” He takes a record and sends it to Munakata after, curious to know what he’ll think.

_ Totsuka-san’s words are very kind. _

Mikoto smirks at the text. Of course Munakata would know he hadn’t written it. 

Still, this is fine. Their manager likes it, and the label signs it off as a new single, confident it’ll be another hit despite the change in tune from what the band usually does. Mikoto can only sigh at the thought of promoting something again. No doubt they’ll ask all sorts of questions, and Totsuka will say he’d written it. Honestly, this whole thing is more trouble than it’s worth. He can write a song for Munakata any time he likes.

Perhaps by then, he’d have found the words he wants to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically this was a 'band au where mikoto writes a song for munakata' fic but somehow bloomed into this very Very long thing!! thank you to all of you who waited for the second installment. if you liked this please feel free to come yell at me on [tumblr](https://cheselle.tumblr.com/)!


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